


The Duchess of Conté

by kitsunerei88



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Character Study, F!Roger of Conté, F/F, Rule 63, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/pseuds/kitsunerei88
Summary: The Duchess Rogelia of Conté is beautiful, but her beauty reminds Alanna of a poisonous, jeweled-coloured creature. She shines in the room, her colours bright, but it is a sign of danger, not an invitation. Her smiles are light and easy, but her words are reinforced with iron will, no matter how gently she says them. She is different, and Alanna is in equal measure drawn, frightened, and repulsed.
Relationships: Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau/Roger of Conté
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020





	The Duchess of Conté

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolf_of_Lilacs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/gifts).



The woman was dwarfed by the mountains of baggage around her—enough to fill not just one suite of rooms, Alanna thought, but several. It was shrinking as what seemed to be a veritable army of servants took it away in pieces. From her angle, Alanna could see that the woman was slight in stature—taller than Alanna herself, but without her muscle or stockiness. Her dusty travelling cloak, made in royal blue, gaped open to reveal red robes underneath. Not the usual wear of noblewomen.

“Rogelia!” Jonathan cried, lunging forwards to hug the newcomer, and the woman turned.

Her long brown-black hair was trimmed neatly, with two locks in the front cut to frame her delicate jawline. She had high cheekbones and a pert, upturned nose. Her mouth was small, but her lips were full, and painted rose pink rather than the ruby red that seemed to be in fashion. Most striking, however, were her eyes—they were sharp, startlingly blue.

“Jon!” She laughed, leaning up into Jonathan’s hug. Her voice was a low contralto, nearly purring, and Alanna felt pinpricks of _something_ cross her arms, over her shoulders, and run down her back. It rumbled at something within her, an uncomfortable heat, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Indeed, she was fairly certain she _didn’t_ like it. “You’ve grown since I’ve seen you last, cousin!”

“So, this is Jon’s cousin?” Alanna murmured out of the side of her mouth. Gary tilted his head slightly towards her in confirmation.

“I—er— _happened_ to overhear—”

“You eavesdropped again,” Alanna replied, trying to sound stern but failing. Gary always eavesdropped, and there seemed to be no point to telling him otherwise.

“As I was saying, I happened to overhear that he’s to teach you Gifted ones sorcery,” Gary continued without any hint of embarrassment. “Also, the King wants her to figure out who sent us the Sweating Sickness—not that they’ll try anything like that again, not with Duchess Rogelia here. Every sorcerer in the Eastern Lands would think twice before taking her on.”

“She’s that good?”

“She’s that good.”

That night, Alanna couldn’t help but keep an eye on the new woman. She was unlike anyone Alanna had ever seen or met. She didn’t dress the same as the other noblewomen, keeping her red robe on over more traditional dress even at dinner, and she spoke louder, with more confidence and command. She was beautiful, and she knew well that she was beautiful—but her mannerisms weren’t the ones of the other noblewomen around the room, and there was something about her beauty that set Alanna on edge.

The Duchess of Conté was beautiful, but her beauty reminded Alanna of a poisonous, jeweled-coloured creature. She shone in the room, her colours bright, but it was a sign of danger, not an invitation. Her smiles were light and easy, but her words were reinforced with iron will, no matter how gently she said them. She was different, and Alanna was in equal measures drawn, frightened, and repulsed. _Remember Thom’s warnings,_ she reminded herself, every time she caught herself stealing a glance at the Duchess, seated at the High Table beside the King.

Whatever Alanna might have thought about the subject of eavesdropping as a _general_ rule, she could hardly help but catch snatches of the conversation at the High Table as she passed by, her plates in hand for Sir Myles.

“Rogelia, you really ought to be settling down,” the King said gently, lifting a goblet of wine to his lips. “You’re nearly six-and-twenty—nearly a decade older than your peers who are marrying now! Father would have wanted me to ensure that you were secure.”

“My studies have taken time,” Duchess Rogelia replied, looking not at the King but around the room, her voice flippant. “I cannot say that finding someone is a priority, and with training the pages and squires in their Gifts—”

The King sighed. “I have been derelict in my duties to you. While you are here, I will introduce you to some suitable Lords or knights. Your father would have wanted it, and you have a line of succession that must be ensured as well.”

“You need hardly—” The Duchess shook her head. “Please, don’t trouble yourself over me. I will be fine as I am, and none know what the future may hold.”

“Rogelia, I insist.” The King smiled, raising his goblet in her direction. “It’s no trouble, none at all.”

From the Duchess’ expression, Alanna suspected that she would very much prefer if the King did not trouble himself at all. And yet, there was little argument that she could make—while her Gift and power might have bought her a delay in a noblewoman’s duties, they did not change them.

Alanna could sympathize. She didn’t have to like the Duchess of Conté to sympathize, and she quickly hurried away with her plates.

* * *

The Duchess of Conté never lost the red robe. Alanna soon learned that it was a symbol of a Mastery from the Imperial University in Carthak, a status that the Duchess had worked long and hard to earn, the equivalent of the Mithran black and gold robe. But the Mithrans, though they trained women in magic, would not have granted her Mastery status, and Alanna could appreciate why she would not give it up, as much as it might have limited her other fashion options. That robe was to Duchess Rogelia of Conté as Alanna’s knighthood was to her—difficult to win, and unthinkable to give up.

There were balls thrown in her honour, all of them she attended with a light expression of gaiety underlined with a sense of annoyance and frustration. Alanna found herself serving at these functions more often than not, especially once she became Jonathan’s squire, and she couldn’t help but watch the Duchess during them. She was always surrounded by men, but even the middle of a crowd, it seemed like she stood alone. Sometimes, Alanna felt for her—it was clear as day that the Duchess had no interest in the usual pursuits of noblewomen, nor in marrying and children, and yet there were no other options for noblewomen.

More often, Alanna was frightened of her. She was powerful and obviously so, but her classes for the Gifted pages and squires were perfunctory. Alanna had learned more from Maude at home than she had from the Duchess, and half of her lectures seemed to be about how _difficult_ a given field or spell was instead of practical instruction.

Coram said the servants spoke about how she could entrance a man and make his will her own, and even if Alanna didn’t believe him, she couldn’t ignore the fact that she sometimes felt that more happened in her conversations with the woman than she believed. She sometimes left the Duchess’ presence shaking, with a dry mouth and a pounding headache, and yet she would have sworn that they had spoken of nothing of importance.

And there was the Ysandir! Even Jon agreed that Duchess Rogelia had magically suggested that he go to the Black City, though Jon believed that the Duchess had sent him to rid Tortall of a scourge with the blessing of the gods. Well, Jon could believe that, but Alanna was rather more convinced that the Duchess had never expected him to return. After that incident, Thom wrote of people making inquiries after him in the City of the Gods, which could not have been a good sign.

Alanna might sympathize with the Duchess in some respects, and she might even admire her in others. But she did not trust Duchess, and she could never shake the feeling that the Duchess meant her, and the people that she loved, harm.

* * *

It was in her sixteenth year that Tusaine went to war with Tortall. There were no surprises there—there had been rumblings of war for months before the armies were mobilized, and with George’s sources, Alanna knew earlier than most when they would be moving.

The only surprise was the command. It was to be Duke Gareth, but when his horse threw him, it went to the Lord Eldorne, whose fief bordered on the edges of the Drell Valley—not a man that Alanna knew, but not one with any significant wartime experience, as she might have anticipated. More worrying still, the Lord Eldorne had a close relationship with the Duchess of Conté, being a frequent admirer of her, and the Duchess was invited to the frontlines of the war as a defence against any magical threat.

Alanna could not help but wonder if there was more to it. She could not help but wonder more, and harder, when Jonathan’s command at a supposedly well-defended position along the river took the brunt of the summer’s biggest attack. They might have won the battle, but their losses were heavily felt.

Late July brought humid heat to the valley, the murmur of crickets loud even against the backdrop rumble of the falls. The air was thick and still, and the crack of the twig behind her sentry position had Alanna whirling around, levelling her spear at the threat.

It was no threat—or not one of from Tusaine, at any rate. The Duchess of Conté picked her way through the woods towards her, guided by an orange light in her hand, which shone sinisterly against her red robes. Underneath, she had adopted a tunic and a pair of wide-legged breeches.

“Your Grace,” Alanna said, nudging Faithful with her foot to motion him silent. “Aren’t you out late?”

“Not really,” the Duchess replied, motioning for her to sit on a large rock nearby. “Please, sit. I know you still tire easily.”

Gingerly, Alanna obeyed. Faithful jumped into her lap, butting her chin with his head in an expression of support. “I am honoured by Your Grace’s concern.”

The Duchess would not have come to her for nothing, Alanna knew, but she was in no hurry to rush her. She would get to her point sooner rather than later.

“We are not friends, are we, Squire Alan?”

Alanna glanced over at the woman, her hands tightening on her spear. She didn’t have an answer, not a true one—she disliked the Duchess, but there were aspects of the woman that she admired and respected, and the Duchess was another woman making her way in a world that was not friendly to women who did not fit in the role that was set aside for them. But she could hardly put those thoughts into words—saying anything would bring too much suspicion onto herself, and she had enough to deal with given her size, her stature, and her voice.

“I don’t believe we are, Your Grace,” she replied, keeping her voice even.

“You don’t _believe_ we are?” The Duchess smiled, a laugh in her musical voice. “What do you mean by that?”

Alanna was silent for a minute, debating whether to answer at all or to change the subject, but the words were pulled out of her anyway. “I admire your… unconventionality,” she murmured, her nose wrinkling. “Your refusal to abide by the constraints of society.”

Duchess Rogelia tilted her head, her blue eyes intense. “You dislike the constraints of society?”

“At times.” Alanna looked away, towards the falls. She didn’t want to say more—indeed, she doubted she could say more.

“What would you say if I offered you a chance to change society completely?” The Duchess’ voice was quiet and reflective—not exactly what Alanna would have expected from her, and a far cry from her usual light, melodic tone. “To shape it into something that you would prefer?”

Alanna shifted, uncomfortable. Her eyes might have been fixed on the darkness across the river, but the remainder of her senses were focused on the woman beside her. She swallowed. “I’d have to ask what you were proposing, and what the cost might be of such a change,” she said, and her eyes flickered to the Duchess without her conscious direction. “But I don’t think, Your Grace, that I would like the price.”

The Duchess’ face was thoughtful, and a wry smile tilted her lips. “I see,” the woman said. “But that is _very_ interesting, Squire Alan.”

“It isn’t. I think many people would like the opportunity to change the world.” Alanna looked away, reminding herself of the danger of the woman beside her. This was the woman who had sent her and Jonathan into the Black City with magical suggestion, the woman powerful enough to send the Sweating Sickness from Carthak, the woman who curiously asked questions about Thom when it seemed that Alanna was something she was not. She could not trust this woman, much as the warmth beside her was inviting. “I am on sentry, Your Grace. Regrettably, I must return to my duties.”

She felt the press of lips on her cheek, but they were gone when she turned around, her mouth open in shock. Duchess Rogelia of Conté smiled, as lazy as a cat, as she stood up. “Of course. I do hope that we might talk further on another occasion, perhaps. Have a very good evening, Squire Alan.”

“And—and you, Your Grace,” Alanna stuttered, her hands numb on her spear. “Have a very good evening.”

The woman turned and disappeared into the darkness. Alanna counted down two minutes before she looked down at Faithful.

“What was that?” she demanded. “I—what was _that_?”

 _A kiss_. Her cat yawned, showing sharp teeth. _Don’t forget what she is, though. The fog’s rising._ _Be careful._

He curled up and went to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Elsin for the brainstorming help! I hope you enjoyed, though I honestly can't say what I think might happen next--certainly, I think changing Roger changes the outcome of the second book, since it probably wouldn't be a trial by combat, and while I don't think Alanna would ultimately do anything different, I think the treatment of a female Roger who is a traitor would be very different.


End file.
